


Protecting the Pendragon Lineage

by marguerite_26



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Chastity Device, Forced Bonding, Knotting, M/M, Master/Slave, Object Insertion, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur endured the Presentation and tried not to think of himself as a pawn, no more significant than the druid slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protecting the Pendragon Lineage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [novemberlite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberlite/gifts).



> Written for [Kinkspiration Round 3: slave fic](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/632569.html) and also as a late birthday gift to [](http://novemberlite.livejournal.com/profile)[**novemberlite**](http://novemberlite.livejournal.com/). Thank you to [](http://snegurochka-lee.livejournal.com/profile)[**snegurochka_lee**](http://snegurochka-lee.livejournal.com/) for the beta and for [](http://novemberlite.livejournal.com/profile)[**novemberlite**](http://novemberlite.livejournal.com/) who reviewed this to ensure it made sense even though it was her gift.
> 
> Originally posted Jan 10, 2012

Pale strips of sunlight streamed into the silent hall. Arthur stood before the gathered crowd, his new crown a band of heavy gold across his brow and his eyes trained on the slave knelt at his feet. At his side, Geoffrey of Monmouth was talking, had been for what seemed like ages. The thick book in his hand held tiny scribbles of the exact wording required during the Presentation and he hadn’t missed a single one, Arthur was positive.

“Raise your hands, palms to the ceiling.”

The cloak’s hood covered most of the slave’s face, but as he looked up bright eyes caught and held Arthur’s. The look mirrored his own, full of anticipation and curiosity, with a sliver of panic. Arthur wondered when this slave -- Emrys, the Druid Elder had named him -- had been chosen for this destiny. Had he been raised for this moment, or had he been chosen among his peers as the best offering to Camelot? Was he even consenting or a pawn in the treaty-makers’ power struggle with the king?

Guilt tugged at Arthur and he wanted to look away, but the Druid Elder stepped forward to stand by Geoffrey, and Arthur knew at this point in the rite that eye contact was essential.

The man raised his hands to both prince and slave and began to whisper a flurry of words that Arthur could not understand, but his skin prickled with the power behind the incantation. When he was finished the druid slave hissed and the Elder grabbed the slave’s hand and held it up for all to see.

The centre of the slave’s palm was marked with a black dragon, a perfect match to the golden version on Arthur’s cape. It was done.

From behind him, Arthur heard the king’s approach then felt the weight of his hand fall to Arthur’s shoulder. “You did well.”

Arthur gritted his teeth and tried not to think of himself as a pawn, no more significant than the druid slave.

~o~

With the click of a latch and the clank of metal releasing, Arthur was naked.

Finally free of the device, he breathed a sigh of relief. His belly tingled as he stepped into the warm scented water and reminded himself that for the first time since he was twelve years old, the cage would not be locked against his groin once the bath was over.

Arthur sank deeper into the bath and thought on his four years of torture come to an end.

~o~

His breeches felt odd, hanging loose on his thin underclothes. The soft texture tickled his sensitive cock. Arthur flushed at the sensation as he was walked through the castle to what would be his new chambers. The new crown across his brow felt like an insurmountable responsibility, a stark juxtaposition to the vulnerability he felt walking through the castle corridors, his cock loose and swaying in nothing but fine material as it hadn’t since he was a boy.

They met no one along the way. His father must have allowed him that bit of dignity. No scullery maid or man servant to spy to see if his gait had changed now that he was no longer bound by the device.

His escorts, Sir Leon and Sir Belvedere, came to a halt outside a thick wooden door.

Arthur nodded curtly, as he’d seen his father do a dozen times a day: an acknowledgement of a man to his subject, and not that of a boy to his mentor. Leon handed Arthur the key, his serious face slipping into a wink and Arthur grinned, and let out a nervous huff of air.

He slid the key into the lock and turned. This, more than becoming the Crown Prince of Camelot at only sixteen, more than the Presentation of his slave, _this_ made his insides twist in excitement. Anticipation that had simmered beneath the surface all day made his hand jittery as he pushed the door open.

The room was lit with dozens of candles, the fire burning high and bright. The drapes smelled sweetly of fresh laundry and the furniture of polish and wood chips. This had been his father’s gift for the new crown prince: chambers in which to begin his adult life. His eyes fell to the bedchamber past the archway. The slave -- _Emrys_ , he reminded himself -- stood in a simple blue tunic and breeches; his feet were bare.

Arthur turned and locked the door.

~o~

He watched quietly as the slave moved about the room, talking to himself, oblivious to Arthur’s presence. He sprawled on the bed in what might have been a seductive pose but it didn’t suit the boy's gangly limbs. He sat up quickly and laughed at himself, stood and began to pace by the bed. Every few steps he looked down at his palms.

Finally he flopped on the bed and sat with this elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. The tight spiral of nerves curled around Arthur’s spine released in the face of the slave's awkwardness. It was just about _them_ now -- no audience, no rituals -- and this slave was not at all what he expected.

And he'd had plenty of time to ponder what to expect. At twelve, Arthur had been lectured on his responsibility to the kingdom, about the Pendragon dynasty and uniqueness of the line to which Arthur belonged. The device had been latched to his groin and the key tucked into his father’s belt. For the good of the kingdom, he was told, he’d understand in time. He’d impatiently waited for his sixteenth birthday, for the device to be put back into storage and for the druid pleasure slave to be bonded to him to relieve the tensions of a young man when they could no longer be denied. He also knew that when he was twenty-one he would be married -- as a bargaining chip in a treaty to increase Camelot's power or offered to the highest bidder like a prized stallion ready for breeding. The guarantee of no bastard children to question the line would fetch an even higher price, Arthur had heard his father explain.

The slave's curses knocked Arthur from his thoughts. He was jumping about the base of the bed holding the toe he'd apparently stubbed, swearing up a storm. The king's own druid slave had never even uttered a word outside of 'yes, Sire', and Arthur coughed to cover his laughter.

The slave looked up, slack-jawed. Catching Arthur's eye, he immediately fell to his knees, hands crossed behind his back, head bowed. It mirrored (if a bit sloppy in execution) the king's slave, as he’d wait behind the throne during Audiences.

“Stand up,” Arthur said, stalking into the room. “You look ridiculous.”

The slave scowled but schooled his face quickly. He opened his mouth to say something and stopped himself before any sound came out.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You may speak.”

“I was _trained_ not to,” he said, a bitter edge to his voice that made him sound older, though Arthur knew they were about the same age.

“I know.” Arthur gave him a small smile. Images flashed through his mind of the expectations placed on him in every aspect of his life: the ways of the court, the correct greeting of nobles, the proper way to ignore a servant in the room. He would not place those same constraints on anyone else. Not if he could help it. “While we are alone, you may talk as you like. If you are to share my chambers, I can’t think of anything more boring than being bonded to a mute.”

The slave laughed, nervous. “Before I was taken from my village, I believe my mother would often curse that I was ever given a tongue.” His eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled, but the words still rang sad.

“You were taken from your family?”

Eye on his palms, touching the markings there, Emyrs said, “I was chosen.”

“How old were you?”

“I was fourteen.” He frowned. "The druid selected those that are to be slaves at birth but I was… I'm not sure. They kept calling me _chosen_. That's all."

“And you were trained for this?" Arthur felt a twinge of guilt, though he had no part in the treaty details. "For me?”

“I -- I didn’t know what was intended. Only that I was secluded, taught to control my magic and a spell was placed on me to ensure I didn't...” Emrys flushed and looked away.

“You were forced to remain chaste?”

“Yes.”

 _I’m sorry_ seemed useless, so Arthur didn’t voice it. He wanted no man's pity, and could only think this boy felt the same.

They remained silent for a moment, each in their own thoughts.

“And the spell’s been removed?”

The slave held up his palms. “Transferred.”

“Oh.”

Arthur reached out, and grazed the familiar marking with his finger. He gasped as his finger warmed at the contact and a shock of pleasure ran up his arm. He blinked at Emrys, who stared back, mouth open and cheeks pink.

“That felt...”

“Yeah,” Arthur breathed. "Must be part of the magic done during the Presentation."

The slave nodded. The magic was incredibly manipulative, but part of Arthur didn't care at the moment. He was sixteen and untouched. And he was achingly hard from the simple touch of another man's palm.

Arthur stepped closer and traced the dragon again, letting the wave of lust wash over him, heat him until he was vibrating with it. The slave's eyes were closed, his plump bottom lip caught between his teeth to stifle a moan.

Arthur leaned in, unthinking.

The slave turned his head. “Sire, please.”

“Of course.” Arthur growled, too excited to calm his temper. “We are still subject to their rules, even in this.” His frustration left him hot with anger and the pent up tension of years of denial.

The slave’s neck was still bared and Arthur stared at the taut muscles, and unable to resist any longer, pressed his lips to the slave’s salty skin and bit down hard to hide the kiss. Emrys gasped, writhing against him as Arthur pinned him by the shoulders and bit again, sucking a bruise they would have to cover later with a scarf.

“Tell me, Emrys.” Arthur’s hand slipped into the back of Emrys’ breeches and grabbed a handful of arse cheek and squeezed. “Are you untouched?”

“I was touched today,” Emrys replied, breathless. "But not before that."

Jealousy burned hot and unexpected in his chest as Arthur’s fingers found Emrys’ hole. It was slick and open. “Explain.”

“I was prepared for you.” The slave squeaked as Arthur’s fingertip slipped inside. “While I was bathed, a wooden finger was oiled and...”

“Yes?” Arthur asked, wanting every detail.

“And pushed inside.” Arthur pressed deeper, making the slave’s breath hitch. “After... once I relaxed, it was removed and a larger one replaced it.”

Arthur pressed his eyes shut, letting the image take shape in his mind as he slipped a second finger inside. Emrys pressed closer, unable to hold still. His hardness jutted against Arthur’s hip.

“Is it true? That those of the Pendragon line are not built like men?” Emrys whispered. “That you mate like wolves.”

Arthur smiled then, and Emrys paled; he must have looked feral. That was what it was all about, wasn’t it? The Pendragon _deviancy_ , used for the betterment of the kingdom.

Pulling his hand free of the clench of the slave's hole, Arthur said, “Well, Emrys, now that you’ve had a wooden cock inside you, how do you feel?”

“Empty.” He looked at Arthur, eyes half lidded and lips swollen from being bitten. “Waiting.”

Arthur's cock pressed at his laces; the unfamiliar touch of fabric and not metal sent him inching closer to orgasm. Emrys panted at Arthur's shoulder, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs at Arthur's nape. This slave was _trained_ to serve him, bound to him… for _this._ His hips jerked at the thought, and the friction of their bodies crashing together made his head spin.

Arthur’s control snapped.

“Then I suggest you remove your clothes quickly if you don’t want them torn from your body.” His voice was low, dangerous. He delighted in the thick, rich sound that was nothing like the boy Arthur had felt like only yesterday.

They were both naked as fast as laces could be snapped and buckles unfastened. Arthur stared at his own cock as his breeches slid down his thighs. It swayed heavily between his legs, looking foreign there, almost unexpected; he hadn’t seen it other than the glimpses he’d stolen while he was being dried after a bath. Then, it was never this full with the bulbous base this clearly defined.

Emrys swallowed thickly and Arthur looked up to see him staring as though he’d never truly believed the stories of the Pendragon lineage. His hand reached out, slowly enough to give Arthur time to bat it away.

Arthur didn’t want to be touched. His own inexperience was creeping up on him and a hand wrapped around his cock for the first time might be enough to have him shooting off before the night’s main purpose was done.

“Get on the bed.” Arthur’s voice was gruff. “On your hands and knees.”

He’d dreamt of this, what it would feel like to push his cock into a tight hole, the feel of wet heat squeezing him. He’d thought of it as often as he dared while his dick stirred fruitlessly in the device that kept him from getting any release.

He knelt on the bed behind the slave, Arthur’s knees knocking Emrys’ legs wider.

“Sire?”

Arthur looked up to see Emyrs, balanced on one hand and reaching back with a small phial. Arthur took it, pulled the cork with his teeth. He bit the inside of his cheek to stave off his orgasm as he poured the oil into his palm and slicked his cock.

“The things I’m going to do to you...” He grazed his oiled thumb along the furled muscle, tender and red from the preparation. “I’ve read books. So many books.” He’d sneak into the library late at night. Deep in the shadowed stacks there where tomes, thick and dusty and filled with illustrations of every form of pleasure a man could experience with another man.

He understood what to do, knew it would be pleasurable, but still nothing prepared him for the sensation as the tip of his cock brushed Emrys’ hole, how the stretched muscle just _gave_ as he pressed forward. He paused to suck in a few ragged breaths as the tip was swallowed and squeezed tight.

The slave’s thighs trembled. A mix of a whimper and a moan filled the air and he fell to his elbows, his head buried in Arthur’s pillow.

“I can’t…” Arthur choked out, trying to calm himself, to go slow. But he’d never imagined it would be like this. That _anything_ could feel like this. “I’m sorry.”

He thrust forward and the slave cried out.

“Shh, shh,” Arthur muttered, nipping gentle bites into the slave’s shoulder and neck, catching his breath and giving them both a moment to calm themselves. It couldn’t last, though. He had to move. He was almost in. He could feel the rim just above the knot forming in his cock.

He had to get in further before he came.

“I need to…” Sweat was breaking out at his lower back from the strain of keeping still. Emrys was trembling, breaths loud and ragged. It was impossible to tell what his reaction was. “Are you ready?”

Emrys shook beneath him, making a muffled sound that didn’t appear to be no or stop, and Arthur’s last thread of restraint snapped.

“I can’t… ” He pressed in, slamming his hips forward, forcing the thickening base past the ring of muscle. There was a cry-out from beneath him, matching Arthur’s own. And he was in and coming before he could process anything more than bliss.

Arthur shifted deeper and pulled out enough to feel the lock of their bodies and earn a moan from Emrys. Barely able to support his own weight, he wrapped an arm around Emrys’ chest and lowered them both to the bed. Side by side, his body shuddering through the rest of his orgasm, he began to explore. His slave’s body was beautiful, thin and lithe, with a flat chest and sharp hipbones, and as he went lower he found a trail of hair like his own. Then his hand closed firmly on a stiff cock.

“Emrys,” Arthur whispered, nipping his ear and giving his dick a long slow stroke.

“Merlin.”

Arthur stilled his hand. “What?”

“My name...” Emrys gasped as he struggled to shift forward to get Arthur’s hand moving again, “the name my mother gave me is Merlin.”

“Merlin,” he repeated, testing out the name.

He couldn’t move much, but he tilted his hips to match each up-down tug of his fist over Merlin’s cock. The tip was wet and leaking, and Arthur swiped it with his thumb, fascinated by the feel and then by the reaction he got. Merlin squirmed beneath his hand as he pressed into the slit, delicious little sounds coming from the back of Merlin’s throat.

Arthur chuckled, sucking another bruise into Merlin’s nape, and started to pump his cock. His hand was still slick enough from the oil to make it glide like a whetstone over a blade. It was easy, natural, the flick of his wrist like handling a hilt; he could do it for hours. But it wasn’t long before Merlin followed Arthur over the edge. His arse clenched tight around Arthur’s cock, squeezing the knot until it stole Arthur’s breath away and Merlin spilt onto his sheets with a stuttered cry.

Arthur felt a surge of pride as Merlin went limp in his arms, pliant and trusting. Merlin’s breathing evened out, his eyes fluttering shut and lazily opening again. His hand curled into Arthur’s as they waited out the knot, tangled in each other.

The dim light of twilight filled the room with shadows, the candlelight playing on Merlin’s cheekbones. Arthur let himself be lulled into a dreamy, quiet calm.

“I need to sleep now,” Arthur said as his dick softened and finally slipped free. His eyes closed and immediately the curtains around the bed were drawn shut.

But Merlin hadn’t moved.

Arthur sprang up, startled, about to search the room for who had entered his chambers without his knowledge.

But Merlin was talking, looking at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I shouldn’t have. Sire, please.” His voice trembled through the explanation. “I didn’t mean to use magic without permission. I was sleepy too and sometimes my magic just listens to what I want.”

Arthur flopped down on the bed, a relieved sigh pushed from his lungs. “Merlin, it’s fine.” Though he knew his father would kill a druid slave for less, treaty be damned. But if the last four years had proved one thing to Arthur, it was that the king’s methods were not infallible.

“It won’t happen again,” Merlin said, the words cracked and hurried.

He grabbed Merlin’s palms and looked at them. He ran a finger over the mark of his ownership and shivered through the magic. “In time, I hope you will learn to trust me.”

“I--” Merlin turned to look at Arthur; his eyes were bright. “You are not what I expected.”

Arthur raised himself onto his elbow and looked down at Merlin’s flushed face. Not able to resist any longer, Arthur darted forward for a kiss. Merlin drew in a surprised breath and moved out of reach, but Arthur snaked his hand around the back of Merlin’s neck, keeping him close.

It would be the first time he’d truly disobeyed his father’s wishes. Arthur couldn’t find it inside himself to care.

“I’ve been suffocated with laws, humiliated by them.”

Merlin nodded, and Arthur saw understanding in his eyes as he tilted his head in consent.

His lips were soft, yielding as Arthur pressed close. He tasted of the blackberry wine the druids drank, and he smelled of rosemary and of their coupling: come and sweat and oil. Arthur moaned, kissing deeper, learning the feel and the mystery of this magical, forbidden thing.

Arthur pulled back enough to say, “I think we’ve both had enough old men controlling our lives, don’t you?”

Merlin grinned and placed a lingering kiss on Arthur’s lips, sucking in his bottom lip and dragging it through his teeth. “I think that tomorrow is a new day.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Also on LJ](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/632619.html)


End file.
